


What You Do For Love

by daire, dairesfanficrefuge_archivist



Category: Highlander - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-12-31
Updated: 2001-12-31
Packaged: 2018-12-18 06:04:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11868222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daire/pseuds/daire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist/pseuds/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist
Summary: by Hayden, Daire, Ghost Cat, Missy, ShadowWing, Palladia, MissyD, Storie





	What You Do For Love

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Daire's Fanfic Refuge](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Daire%27s_Fanfic_Refuge). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Daire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dairesfanficrefuge/profile).

What You Do For Love

  


  


  


_What You Do For Love_

By a bunch of us 

A _Highlander_ Round Robin fanfic 

This originally appeared as a Round Robin story on   
the Highlander Holyground Forum 

* * *

The following story must contain love, flying projectiles in one form or another, food, bathroom duty and a horseman reference. 

For the teachers on the BB. 

* * *

_What You Do For Love_

Methos couldn't believe what he had gotten himself into this time. He and Abbie had only recently entered a serious relationship. Yet she already knew how to wrap him around her little finger. In 5000 years he had yet to figure out how women could do that so easily. 

His Abbie (Oh gods he was already thinking in possessive terms) was a High School teacher with the patience of a saint. With a major flu epidemic in full swing she had gently cajoled him to help out in their time of need. Thus he found himself entering SeeMore High has a substitute teacher. 

Hope you decide to play.   
\--Hayden 

* * *

**Round 2**

Richie found it vaguely embarrassing to still be in High School. It wasn't his fault, dying does have a tendency to change your priorities. For years, he had devoted all his energy to MacLeod's mentoring, and it wasn't the first time he had lessons from the School of Hard Knocks. But now it was time to go back and finish his diploma. 

He was sure that Immortality hadn't changed him very much; he was still young, wasn't he? Yet in his first few days at SeeMore High, he felt like he was among infants. Had he ever been so juvenile? The only saving grace was Ms. Abbie Lane, the History teacher. Even Mac had never been able to bring history to life like she could. *sigh* 

But the principal had said that Ms. Lane was down with the flu, and so they had to deal with the dreaded Substitute teacher. The whole class knew about it, and discipline had dropped faster than a falling head. Something struck him from behind, and with a sigh, he pulled a wounded paper airplane out of his hair. 

Suddenly a shadow blocked the tiny window in the door. Richie's eyes went wide as he Felt what was on the other side of that door. Oh Sh*t! 

Who's next? Tag, you're it!   
\--The Ghost Cat 

* * *

**Round 3**

His heart pounded, not knowing how to handle a potentially deadly teacher. He should have just studied for his GED at a vocational school. 

Quickly, Richie scanned for an easy way out of the room, but to no avail. He was a sitting duck. The blood thrumming through his veins blocked out the boisterous high schoolers, who had no idea what approached. He could see the shadow in the door's window pause before entering, then the doorknob turned and in walked their substitute teacher. 

When Richie's eyes fell on the man, he let his head fall to the desk with a thud as another paper airplane sailed over him and into the hair of the girl in front of him. 

\--Daire 

* * *

**Round 4**

Methos paused with his hand on the door handle. The presence of another immortal coursed down his spine. Cursing under his breath in a language long dead, he shifted the load of history books he'd been given at the front office and checked to be sure his sword was still inside the sheath sewn into his long overcoat. Why did he have to run into another immortal here of all places? 

The moment he opened the door Methos was assailed by cacophony of noise coming from the classroom. It seemed that all thirty teenagers were talking at the top of their lungs. Spitballs littered the floor and more flew through the air. If he wasn't mistaken, there was a couple in the back corner of the room busily examining each other's tonsils with their tongues. Not a single person in the room paid the slightest bit of attention to his entrance - except for a young man in the middle of the third row. Richie?!? What was he doing here? 

Tag. You're it!   
\--Missy 

* * *

**Round 5**

Methos unceremoniously dumped the pile of textbooks on "his" desk, hardly even paying attention to the chaos around him. He was a bit disappointed in himself; when he was working hard on "being" Adam Pierson, he could become almost invisible to other Immortals, but in a mere classroom, he had never even thought of making the effort. He was starting to get careless in his old age, and next time it might not just be the Kid. 

He decided that wearing his longcoat through the entire lecture would be too eccentric even for a Subbie, so he reluctantly took it off and hung it carefully on a hook in the corner. While his back was turned, a needle-sharp pencil whistled past his ear, lodging itself in a cork messageboard. His fingers clutched the leather viciously; in his mind he repeated over and over that he was doing this for Abbie. 

He turned around slowly, striding imperiously to the teacher's desk and facing what could loosely be called his class. One hand picked up a map pointer; it didn't have the heft of a good blade, but the length of it was quite impressive. There was shrill whistle as it cut the air, and the resounding *THWAP* as it hit the wood desktop echoed from the farthest corners of the room. Everyone lapsed into a stunned silence, even the pair playing tonsil-hockey. All eyes, for the moment at least, faced forward. 

"My name is Mr. Matthews, and this is History 30. You WILL call me Mr. Matthews, or Sir. You have no need to know my first name, because I'm not here to be your friend." His eyes, as they swept the room, paused significantly on Richie. "I am here to teach, and you are here to learn. And trust me Ladies and Gentlemen, you WILL learn something today, even if it kills one of us. Have I made myself clear?" 

\--Ghost Cat 

* * *

**Round 6**

Richie groaned. He'd never seen Methos quite so much the hard ass. Though he could go along with them pretending they didn't know each other. 

A kid in the back snickered and whispered to his friend, "Yeah, what, did he live it?" 

Evidently, Methos heard the boy because he bellowed. "I know more history than you could possibly comprehend!" 

\--Daire 

* * *

**Round 7**

Just then there was a loud knock at the door. "Hi Mr. Matthews. We are so glad you were able to help us out today. Ms Lane wanted me to come and see to Kenny and James. Come on boys you know the way to the Vice principle's office. My name is Ms Beatle if you need anything to day just let me know," the kindly older woman smiled knowingly. 

She turned back to the class. "Now children graduation is in 2 weeks. ANYONE who is sent to the office will NOT be marching. Am I clear?" 

As the kindly woman left with the boys Methos heard James quip "Hey Ms. B, can we stop by the Bathroom for a quick smoke?" 

"JAMES!" 

Methos stood there partially in shock. Suddenly this Aunt Bea of a woman had turned the heathens into humans. How did she do that? 

The rest of the class was relatively uneventful. Until "Mr. Ryan, see me after class." 

\--Hayden 

* * *

**Round 8**

Richie cringed; his sword was stowed away in an oversize backpack in his locker and, from the way Methos had been acting, he felt rather naked without it. The other students filed out, some of them looking back with a mix of pity and relief ("At least it's not me"). 

Richie stood stiffly next to his desk until the last of them walked out; as the door swung shut, he lost all self control, dissolving into snickers. "Matthews? You really need to work on some better names." He was waiting for the old man to relax from his teacher "role", but as the awkward moment stretched into minutes, he realized that Methos did not consider this a role at all. The boy's next words were hesitant; "Did I do anything wrong... Sir?" 

Methos--almost--smiled. "No, as a matter of fact, you were the only one who acted even remotely like a human being." 

"Then why did you call me back? You oughta know, anyone who stays in with the teacher after class gets the crap beat out of them!" 

A shrug; "Your point being?" He paused, letting out a long, tired sigh. "Truth is, I need your help. Substituting a class this close to graduation is like volunteering to feel the lions at the Coliseum; there's a good chance that you're going to be the meal." 

It was Richie's turn to shrug; "You should have known what you were getting into." 

"Are you kidding, half the time I have to double-check what year it is; how am I to know when the end of the school year is?" 

"Hey, you're the one dating a high school teacher. The hottest teacher in the school." 

"What did you just say?!?" Methos' tone was sharp; obviously this was a dangerous subject. 

This one's a hot potato, who dares to pick it up?   
\--The Ghost Cat 

* * *

**Round 9**

Richie shrugged again. "I said, she's hot. The hottest teacher in this school. Every guy here would like a chance at her, but she's got it so bad for you, she doesn't see anybody else. I ought to know. I asked her out and all she could do was rave about 'her history man'. Like you'd been there or something." 

Methos looked a little embarassed and yet pleased. "Look, Richie, this is getting us off-topic here. I need some advice on handling these animals." 

"Just remember what you were like when you were that age and act accordingly." Richie paused a moment. "Oh yeah, that was sooo long ago you probably don't remember, do you, old man?" Richie teased. 

Methos frowned and made a move toward his coat as Richie backpedalled, saying hastily "Uh-uh, you don't want to go there, man. Just think how hard it will be to explain why you beheaded a student." 

"No problem," Methos answered smoothly, "You forgot to turn in your homework!" 

"Ok. Chill, man. If you can feel the lions at the Coliseum, you can handle these guys." 

"You know I meant 'feed', Punk." 

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Richie snags his books and escapes to the door. "Just remember, you're Death on a horse, man." 

Anyone else?   
\--ShadowWing 

* * *

**Round 10**

Silence descended on the class the next day as the long leather satchel clanked a little when Methos plopped it gently on the teacher's desk. 

"We're studying history, but most young people today have little sense of it, so I've brought some of the implements of history to show you." He unzipped the length of the carrier and began to lay out weapons: a gladius, a kris, a scimitar, stilettos, a claymore, a saber: the weapons of the world, before gunpowder. 

There was a sudden surge of kids toward the desk, but once they got to it, a hesitancy. 

"The owner of each of these weapons is dead," Methos said, quietly. "Respect them. This is one of the knives which killed Julius Caesar," he commented, holding it up. 

"How do you know, man?" One of the boys, himself no stranger to knives, couldn't quite work up a sneer. 

"Each weapon has its provenance - its background, and chain of ownership. One of the aspects of studying history is doing research," Methos picked up the knife, offered it gently, hilt-first. 

Yeah, right, thought Richie, you know it's provenance, all right, you probably watched him die, maybe helped. Three men? Sure, one of them could have been Methos. Wipe off the blood, save the knife for the next time. 

"This sword was carried by Alexander in his campaigns, and this one is a gladius, from the Coliseum." 

"Gladiator, man!" one of the boys reached to grab the short sword, but ran into Methos' hand. 

"Which one's the best?" All the kids were crowded around the desk, staring at the gleaming blades lying on the scarred wood. 

"Best for what?" Methos asked. "A weapon is chosen for a use, like any other tool. A weapon is a tool of death, but there are many kinds of death." 

Boy, Methos has 'em now, Richie thought. Some of these kids have seen violent death, but it had been something like a drive-by shooting, bang, bang, you're dead and I'm gone. Not like hand-to-hand desperate clash of blades. 

"Here: I'll give you a demonstration. Ahhh, you." Methos pointed to Richie, seemingly at random. 

No, Richie thought. Not even in fun. I won't put myself into your murderous hands. But as the rest of the kids settled back like an ebbing tide, his traitorous feet carried him around the desk to Methos. 

\--Palladia 

* * *

**Round 11**

Richie glared at Methos as if to say "Why'd you pick me, man?" Of course, he knew why, just not why in front of witnesses. What if a blade slipped? He'd have to start over in another state, just to get his stinking diploma. Methos tested the weight of the gladius as he waited for Richie to reach him. When he did, Methos took him by the shoulder and turned him to face the class. 

"There are two kinds of death: slow and quick." He positioned the blade in front of Richie's neck. "A slice across the neck, severing the jugular veins, will result in a relatively quick death." 

_Why stop there?_ Richie wondered. Just tell them that beheading is much quicker. He wanted to move, but didn't dare, Methos had a steady hand, and he wasn't about to risk a supernatural healing in front of a bunch of immature high schoolers. 

"So how do you make a person writhe and die slowly?" a boy dressed in all black asked. _This is the wrong kind of history lesson for this group, old man._

Methos looked at the boy and placed the tip of the blade carefully against Richie's stomach. "There are many, many ways to administer a lingering death. With a sword, a belly wound slicing stomach and intestines will cripple your opponent. There is also drawing and quartering. I presume you've all seen _Braveheart_? Hanging isn't too quick unless the neck snaps with the weight of the hangee; there was also breaking with the wheel." 

"Dude, we're not going to demonstrate that," Richie said. 

Meaning to sound teasing, Methos admonished him, giving a slight jab with the gladius. "I told you it was Mr. Matthews or Sir." 

Next!   
\--Daire 

* * *

**Round 12**

Richie automatically tightened his stomach muscles to arch away from the sharp point of the gladius. He fought back the urge to touch his stomach to determine whether Methos had done any damage. 

"Um, I, ah, meant to say let's please not demonstrate that, Sir." And what he really wanted to do was grab the scimitar from its resting place on the desk and attempt to wipe the smile off the old man's face. But, in front of a classroom-full of immature teenagers was not exactly the place to take on the world's oldest immortal - even in jest. Especially since he was supposed to one of those immature teenagers. 

Methos moved the sword away from Richie and stepped back. He wanted to smile at the way young Mr. Ryan was handling himself, but instead motioned for him to return to his seat along with the rest of the class. 

"History is not just about dates and events. It is about people - how they lived and how they died." He placed the gladius among the other weapons on the table. "These instruments were all used by people at some point in history. Some were used in defending their owners' lives; others were used as instruments of war and murder. But, each one tells a story. It is that story you are learning when you study history." 

Methos paused when a student raised his hand. "Yo, Mr. Matthews, Sir, if what we're learning when we study history is the story behind this stuff, how come we gotta memorize all them dates?" 

Catch. Don't drop it.   
\--Missy D 

* * *

**Round 13**

"Because dates are the loom of history. Dates are the pegs on which the warp and weft of the tapestry are woven. When you know the dates, you can make a good estimate of how the threads of human activity and discovery affected each other. Look at this," Methos said, lifting a gleaming scimitar. 

"This blade was made in Damascus. It is one of the first to use the folded-steel technique, which later flowered separately in the Samurai Katanas. Damascus was one of the great markets of the East. It's still there, in Syria." He turned to pull down a map of the world, then selected a dollar out of his wallet. 

Holding it up, he offered, "Anyone know where Damascus is, on the map?" 

The kids crowded around the map, clearly with no idea where to start looking. "Middle East, kids," Methos offered. "Think Mediterranean Sea. Lebanon, Israel, you're getting warmer." He watched them zero in on Damascus. "You had no cars. Horses, camels, boats. So trading centers were often sited near a river, or sea. There. you've got it. Think about caravans. Everything, all the trading goods, foods, fabrics, were transported by animals or boats, so what do you need?" He handed the bill to the first girl who had stuck her finger on the map at Damascus, and pushed her to make the next step. 

"Hey, Mr. Matthews, it's getting close to lunch time!" one of the boys prodded. Methos saw the light dawn behind her eyes. 

"Food. You'd need food for the animals, and water. Just like we need gas for our cars." 

"And so. . ." Methos asked, and he made the little beckoning gesture Richie had seen MacLeod make so many times, the invitation to spar. 

"If you had water, or food, it would be important. Other people would want it, and you'd have to defend it. With, with," and she looked at the sword with wonder, "swords like that." 

"Very good," Methos smiled at her, a real smile, and she blushed. Suddenly Richie understood something else about Methos. He understood why their absent teacher was so fond of him. 

\--Palladia 

* * *

**Round 14**

The bell rang breaking the spell Methos had woven through the room. Everyone quickly scattered while exclaiming the joys of learning. (I'm a teacher I can dream-- it's fantasy right lol) 

Ritchie approached the teacher's desk with his new appreciation for Methos' talents. "Man that was great. You really had them" proclaimed Richie. 

"Thanks everyone should appreciate the past" sighed Methos. 

"Come on old man I'll buy you lunch. You who have lived many life times should appreciate the school cafeteria" Richie grinned knowingly. Methos frowned. What am I getting into now???? 

\--Hayden 

* * *

**Round 15**

They proceeded to the cafeteria, where the breathtaking smells of mass-produced foods assaulted their nostrils. Methos looked doubtful, and Richie smirked. 

"Stay away from that." Richie pointed at a pan of red sauce covered spaghetti with bits of ground meat mixed in. "About the best thing is the Jell-O. Hard to mess that up." Perusing the choices behind the sneeze guard and counter, Richie finally settled on the assumed-to-be turkey and potatoes and a piece of chocolate cake. 

Methos was skeptical and stuck the daily available pizza. He'd never seen pizza in large rectangular pieces before. But it was better than nothing, not having had the chance to pack a lunch so early in the morning. 

They paid the hairnetted cashier and parted ways outside the kitchen. 

"No offense, Mr. Matthews, but I doubt you'd want to sit out here with these heathens." 

"Not to mention, you don't want to mess up your reputation by sitting with a teacher." 

Richie grinned. "Not at all." 

Any return comment from Methos was interrupted as a glob of mashed potatoes sailed past his head and landed with a splat against the wall behind him. 

\--Daire 

* * *

**Round 16**

As soon as the creamy mush hit target, someone screamed "Food Fight!" and soon the air was filled with substances of various colours and consistencies, some of which might actually be edible. 

Methos' voice rose a bit louder than he intended, "Isn't there anyone in control of this zoo?" 

"As a matter of fact," spoke a voice from behind him, grandmotherly yet stern, "you are Matthews." 

Methos looked over his shoulder, somewhat startled. "Ms. Beatle?" 

"I'm not sure what it's like on college campus, but at this level of the education system, a teacher has to do a lot more than just lecture. Finish your meal as quickly as possible. You'll need this." She handed him a small metal whistle. "By the way, this afternoon you'll be doing bathroom patrol." 

Methos' eyes widened "Bathroom patrol?!?" 

Richie grinned; "Young men and women tend to do things in public washrooms. A great many *interesting* things." Picking up the remains of his meal, he gave his "teacher" a clap on the shoulder. "Don't work too hard!" With that, he scrapped his tray into a nearby garbage can before using it as a shield on the way out. 

\--Ghost Cat 

* * *

**Round 17**

Methos glanced quickly around the room, then down at his tray. The layer of grease congealing on the top of his pizza didn't appeal at all. He realized that he'd have to do something quickly to gain control over this bunch. 

With a flick of his wrist he tossed the food into the trash then slammed the tray down on a nearby table; at the same time he bellowed, "KNOCK IT OFF!" 

\--ShadowWing 

* * *

**Round 18**

It had no effect. The chaos flowed on as if nothing had happened. I have filleted people for less than this, Methos thought, and searched around until he found what he sought: a teen-ager with his chair tipped up against the wall, watching, wearing the satisfied grin of an instigator who expected never to be caught out. It was the boy who had asked about writhing death in the history class. 

Methos made his way to the boy, stood over him. The boy didn't look up. "My name is Mr. Matthews, and I'd like to talk with you." 

"Yeah, well. . . some other time. Make an appointment." 

Instantly, Methos hooked his foot around the base of the chair, dumping the kid on the floor. Shielding what happened next with his own back, he looked from a distance as if he were helping the boy up, but in fact, his steely fingers dug into the boy's throat, lifting him. 

"My name is Mr. Matthews to you, punk, and I don't need an appointment. You need some manners. We're going to make a little attitude adjustment. You will call me Mr. Matthews. You will stand when an adult addresses you. If you do this, I will allow you to go on living. Do we understand each other?" 

"You can't touch me! I'll get you canned." 

"I just did, and no, you can't." Throwing an arm over the boy's shoulders in a gesture that looked falsely friendly, Methos remembered the whistle, stuck it in his mouth and blew. Dropping it, he yelled, "Cease fire!" 

The cafeteria quieted. The boy's mouth stretched into a nasty smile, and he said, "You're a dead man." 

"Not yet, and not by you, kid. Remember what I said." Methos ruffled the boy's hair, patted his face with apparent good cheer, and walked over to Mrs. Beatle. "I think we might be less likely to have an encore if the kids clean up the mess. How about having a social-service lab here until the place looks like a numan habitation again?" 

"It's probably illegal. Forced child labor." 

"Labor? This isn't labor. It's 'Interpersonal Activity Time,' and we'll write it into the lesson plans for today. Save the janitors some work." 

Methos' smile this time was sunny, cheerful, and Mrs. Beatle found herself smiling back, if somewhat grimly. 

"Think of me," "Matthews" murmured, "as a consultant. What we have here is a failure to communicate. This is a learning opportunity: that actions have consequences." 

Dire consequences, sometimes, Methos thought to himself. 

\--Palladia 

* * *

**Round 19**

One more day, Abbie sighed miserably. Just one more day, and then I'll go back. She still ached all over, but the fever was definitely subsiding. She felt somewhat brighter this afternoon, but ridiculously weak. It had taken all her energy just to microwave a bowl of soup. She rolled over in bed and squinted at the clock, but the numbers didn't register. She had lost all concept of time over the past twenty-four hours. 

Her thoughts muzzily strayed to Adam Matthews and she wondered how he was handling his first day of school. She wondered if he had encountered Cal, and frowned; perhaps she should have told Adam about the renowned troublemaker. The kid's real name was Carroll, but no one dared call him that. In and out of foster homes, in juvenile detention when each new family sent him away in horror, he had instead of friends a gang of teenaged desperados who worshipped his every move, each aspiring to be what they lacked the skill and courage to become. 

Abbie sighed. She wouldn't call Cal's crew a 'gang', really; 'pack' might be a better description of the defiant, misdirected misfits looking to worse than themselves for guidance. At any rate, she should have warned Adam about the boy, and about a variety of other less desirable aspects of his new position. 

As medication lulled reality once more, Abbie smiled dreamily to herself. No matter; she was confident that Adam could handle any person or situation with which he came into contact. She could hardly wait to recover; she wanted nothing more than to curl up against him and listen to all the anecdotes he would have to share about his experiences at SeeMore High. Contented, she dozed. 

\--Storie 

* * *

**Round 20**

Methos walked the halls of SeeMore High School with conviction. "All these children need is a little good old fashioned discipline," he thought. And Bathroom Patrol was a sure way to run into those that needed that discpline most. Ah, just what he was looking for one of Cal's little croonies acting has lookout in the the most overlooked bathroom of the school. "This should be fun," Methos grinned evilly at the prospect of what was to come. 

Methos strod into the Bathroom with Conviction. "Cal, what a surprise to find you here and look your gang too. What a pleasure to find you all together." 

"I told you subbie, you'd be sorry. You're going to learn who's in charge here the HARD way." Cal snarled. 

"How nice, that's exactly my plan, punk" Methos moved quickly drawing his sword and pinning Cal against the bathroom wall. "Shall we begin, Carroll ?" 

(fade to black)   
(2 days later) 

"Adam I don't know what you did to those children but they have been simply wonderful since I returned. They are all working so hard and are so concerned about my health. If I even sniffle the concern just shows on their angelic faces. Even Cal and his friends seem to have seen the light. And Miss Beatle wants me to twist your arm and get you to teach full time next year." Abbie exclaimed. 

Abbie opened the door to her place and pulled Adam inside. 

"Abbie it was really nothing, nothing at all. I'm sure with graduation so close maturity was bound to kickin. I just happened to be there at the right time to help it along. And you have all ready thanked me enough. That was a marvelous dinner" 

"Well I did have a little more arm twisting in mind if you don't mind. Here's your beer." 

"Twist away" Methos settled down on the couch and picked up the TV Guide. "What was the name of that movie you wanted to see" 

"Titanic. Adam could you give me a hand? " 

Methos walked into the bathroom to find candlelite, a foaming bathtub and Abbie in blue. 

(fade to black) 

The End 

\--Hayden 

* * *

Round Robin Home 

© 2001 All of Us 

General Disclaimer: the concept of Immortality and any characters from the _Highlander_ universe belong to Davis/Panzer Productions, et al. No copyright infringement intended, there is no monetary gain, yadda yadda yadda. 

* * *  
  
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